


it’s too quiet in this room

by yeswayappianway



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-26 08:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17138129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeswayappianway/pseuds/yeswayappianway
Summary: Training camp turned into the preseason, and the preseason turned into the start of the season. There were team barbecues and practices, road trips and off days. Marc tried to hold on to that sense of excitement he’d felt at the beginning of camp. Even when he wasn’t managing to stay upbeat as well as he’d like, though, there was Matt. Matt, who never hesitated to talk him up in interviews whenever anyone tried to insinuate animosity between them, and who was always willing to talk about practice, but never made any attempt to talk outside of the arena.





	it’s too quiet in this room

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snickfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickfic/gifts).



> this takes place over the course of the 2016-17, 2017-18, and 2018-19 season, with the last section being set after i wrote the story, so that part will probably be wrong pretty soon. i took some artistic license with when some things happened, but i tried to keep the actual hockey events mostly correct. the big thing i didn’t address was matt murray’s father passing away, because i didn’t feel i could handle it respectfully, so i just left it out.
> 
> this was a bit of an experiment in trying to characterize matt and flower’s relationship differently than i’d read before, and was hugely inspired by this quote i found, [from a Post-Gazette article](https://www.post-gazette.com/sports/penguins/2017/08/10/matt-murray-penguins-goalie-marc-andre-fleury-thunder-bay-ontario/stories/201708100106):
>
>> There’s a quote that never made it where Murray says he wished he and Marc-Andre Fleury were closer throughout the latter’s tenure in Pittsburgh. I didn’t know what Murray meant by this, so I pressed him with a phone call yesterday. Murray said he purposefully kept quiet – around the media, his teammates and Fleury – because he wanted as much of the spotlight as possible to shine on Fleury. “He’s Marc-Andre Fleury,” Murray told me over the phone Wednesday. “He should have been celebrated.”
> 
> this story spans from the beginning of the 2016-17 season to partway through the 2018-19 season
> 
> title from Blood in the Cut, by K.Flay
> 
> thank you greatly to both of my beta readers for being super helpful and making this story better! and extra shout out to one of them for our hive mind. you know who you are.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

_September 2016_

“Still a beanpole, Matty?” Marc grinned as he chirped. It felt good to be back in Pittsburgh, good to be back with the team, and Marc was thoroughly ignoring every single scrap of media even slightly referencing the Pens’ goalie situation. It was enough just to be here, he told himself, and it was mostly true.

Matt shrugged, took the chirp with good-natured silence. When he didn’t add anything else, Marc felt the need to fill the gap in conversation. “Did you have a good summer? Did you see the new Thai restaurant over in Cranberry?” he asked, trying to remember if he’d heard anything about Matt’s summer beyond his day with the Cup.

“Good, yeah, summer was nice. I haven’t, I’ll have to check it out,” Matt said, fishing around in his bag.

Okay, well, if Matt didn’t want to talk, Marc could shut up. They sat and started putting their gear on, the conversations of the room swirling around them. There was something mesmerizing about watching Matt go through all the intricate steps, his big hands moving in a way that almost seemed instinctive. Matt always looked a little like he was overextended, long limbs giving the impression that he might tip over at any second. That all disappeared when he started getting ready for hockey, though, his quiet competence taking over and reminding Marc that Matt was incredibly good at his job. He could watch Matt practice for hours, Marc thought, and then swallowed. Those weren’t the kind of thoughts he really wanted to have about his much younger—backup? competition? goalie partner?—teammate.

Matt didn’t say anything, but Marc suddenly felt very uncomfortable in their silence. He stood up, half in his gear, and went to go tease Sid about his brand new hat, which was, of course, exactly the same as the hat he’d worn every other year.

Several minutes later, Marc was forced to actually finish getting ready, and he crossed the locker room to get back to his stall. Matt was finishing up and talking to Rusty and Dumo, laughing at something they’d said. The three of them mostly ignored Marc as he grabbed his chest protector, and Dumo said, pointedly, “Yeah, Matt, what are you going to do about it?”

Marc didn’t know what they were talking about, but it was clearly an ongoing discussion, because Matt just rolled his eyes and with a hint of a smile, said, “Not take advice from someone who thinks indie music is Indian, first of all.”

Rusty let out a whoop, and Dumo argued back, “Hey, anyone could make that mistake!” Marc wasn’t paying attention, though, instead comparing this Matt, laughing and joking, to their stilted conversation earlier. He had known last season that Matt seemed uncomfortable around him, or at least unsure how to act. Marc had hoped that things would be different this year and maybe they would be—friends, at least.

He wondered what he would have to do to get Matt to let go of his careful politeness around him.

\-----

_September–October 2016_

Training camp turned into the preseason, and the preseason turned into the start of the season. There were team barbecues and practices, road trips and off days. Marc tried to hold on to that sense of excitement he’d felt at the beginning of camp. Even when he wasn’t managing to stay as upbeat as he’d like, though, there was Matt. Matt, who never hesitated to talk him up in interviews whenever anyone tried to insinuate animosity between them, and who was always willing to talk about practice, but never made any attempt to talk outside of the arena.

Marc found himself watching Matt more and more. He could try to say it was for hockey—trying to find things Matt could work on in practice or watching from the bench, maybe—but it wasn’t. He could also pretend it was an attempt to try and identify why Matt always seemed to keep such a distance between them in any context even slightly outside of the most professional, which was more true, but still not the main reason. Marc’s eyes followed Matt’s movement across the ice during a timeout, and his quick smile as he dodged the tape ball Shearsy had lobbed at his head, and the lean muscles in his arms as he propped them on the table when the team was out for post-loss consolation drinks.

As much as it made him feel like a teenager again, Marc even dreamed about Matt. He rarely remembered much of them when he woke up, but his face burned as he thought about them, fully awake and conscious of how infatuated he felt. Because, of course, no matter how much attention he paid to Matt, Matt rarely returned the favor except when talking about him to other people. It was a hard thing to think about, because Marc knew how he felt when he had feelings for someone, when he wanted someone, and his feelings toward Matt were both of those. But there was also a building irritation with Matt’s distance and the gap between how he talked _about_ Marc and how he talked _to_ Marc. He didn’t know how those two things went together, and Marc could feel them tangling up into a mess that he hoped he somehow wouldn’t have to deal with.

\-----

_November 2016_

It was mostly dark outside, but not totally. Sid’s backyard was big enough to get lost in, but there was a patio in the faint arc of light coming through the blinds on the back door, and Marc had come outside just for the hell of it, really. Matt was still standing near the edge of the stone pavement, where he had been since Marc walked through the door.

“Hey,” Marc said.

Matt didn’t turn, just kept staring out into the yard. Marc walked up next to him.

“Something exciting out there?”

Matt shrugged slightly.

God, talking to him really was like pulling teeth.

Marc said, again, “Hey,” this time punctuating it with a hand on Matt’s arm. Matt did turn this time, and suddenly Marc was faced with the reality of how close they were standing. Matt’s eyes were fixed on Marc’s lips, his own mouth slightly open and Marc—Marc leaned in.

There was a moment where it seemed like they would meet, finally, and maybe that would be what was needed to cut through the weird distance that Marc always felt between them. And then Matt stiffened, and pulled back.

“Sorry,” was all he said before he turned and walked back inside. Marc stood there, frozen, as the door clicked shut.

\-----

_January 2017_

Marc tried not to think about that night at Sid’s. It didn’t work, but he gave himself credit for trying. It was just so—

The thing was, Matt never mentioned it. He didn’t act any different towards Marc afterwards, still kept his polite distance. It wasn’t just the distance, either, although Marc certainly wanted much less distance between them, in more ways than one. It was how unfailingly _nice_ Matt was to him. Marc knew perfectly well that Matt wasn’t that nice, anyone with eyes could see it on the ice. He was stubborn and focused and almost ruthless with his resolve. So where the fuck was that when he talked to Marc?

He’d said something about it to Tanger recently, and got laughed at for his trouble. Tanger was of the opinion that it was just Marc pulling Matt’s metaphorical pigtails, and maybe it was, but it felt more important than that to Marc. The flipside of Matt’s polite facade was that Marc felt like he didn’t know Matt at all, and that was bigger than just Marc’s crush. They were teammates, goalie partners. Marc loved getting to know his teammates, would want that even if Matt wasn’t—Matt. But Matt seemed to have drawn a line, marked off a space where he would interact with Marc and one he wouldn’t, and he seemed to have no interest in crossing it.

Marc sighed. Of course, he could just ask Matt why they never seemed to talk outside of practice and games, because he didn’t really know, just had his own theories. But… god, he had no idea how to say it that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete asshole. _You’re too nice, it can’t be real._ Yeah, that would go over well. And maybe… maybe he was afraid. Afraid that Matt just didn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe the moment at Sid’s had really just been a mistake and that was all Marc would ever get.

He just—he wanted to push at Matt, try and make him angry, get him sad, anything that would provoke something beyond pleasant civility and glowing praise. It wasn’t an impulse Marc was particularly pleased with, and he resolved to keep it to himself. But it was appealing, the idea of making Matt react _somehow_.

\-----

_April 2017_

“Hey,” Matt said, smiling a little goofily and sliding into the booth next to Marc.

“Hey Matty,” Marc said back, unable to stop himself. There was something about Matt that made Marc unable to stay angry at him whenever they were face to face. He had this sort of magnetic field of—of charm, or earnestness. Or maybe Marc was just drunk. He reached for his glass, only to find it empty. Drunk seemed more likely by the moment.

“You were so good,” Matt said, in what Marc thought of as his hero-worship voice. On the one hand, at least it was something more than just polite small talk, but one the other—Marc sighed. Maybe it was unfair to call it hero-worship, but sometimes Matt just looked so young and so awed and it was fucking infuriating, trying to cut through that layer of wonder to get to the real person underneath. Marc knew it was there, but it still seemed like whenever he was around, Matt immediately lost all that, and became a fucking quote machine, spitting out “He’s such a good mentor” and “Flower means a lot to the team” and respectful silence as if it was his job. Marc sighed again. It _was_ his job, in a way, and wasn’t that the real issue here?

“You okay?” Matt asked. Marc realized he’d been silent for too long.

“Yeah, all okay. On to round two, eh?” he offered as a distraction. Matt grinned at him, and that was good, that looked real.

Matt said, “Hell yeah,” and nudged Marc with his elbow companionably. “All thanks to you.”

Marc rolled his eyes. “Sure, whatever you say, Matthew.”

“What, you know it’s true!” he protested. _You don’t have to butter me up, Matt_ , Marc thought but didn’t say. His list of things he wasn’t saying was growing by leaps and bounds these days. He wondered how all of Matt’s glowing praise would do in the face of some of those unsaid thoughts.

Marc just shrugged. “Go get me another beer, then, if I was that good,” he goaded. Of course, Matt just took it in stride. He slid back out of the booth and headed for the bar. Marc put his head in his hands.

It would be so much easier if he just hated Matt. He could resent him for stealing his job, be bitter about the way Matt idolized him as some fucking superhero, maybe even tell Matt how fucking angry he got about it sometimes. But Matt was… sweet, maybe, and a great goalie, and as much as Marc tried to ignore it, attractive. Maybe not traditionally, but that had never mattered to Marc as much as someone's presence or their attitude. There was just something about Matt that drew him in.

Marc stood up, wobbled a little—he was definitely at least somewhat drunk—and went to find Matt. He found him standing near the edge of the room, having been drawn into a conversation with Horny. Or rather, Horny seemed to be talking at Matt while Matt nodded and angled his body away as if he was going to leave at any moment. Marc snorted. Horny didn’t take subtle hints.

“Hey, Horny, I think Phil was looking for you,” Marc said, a little loudly to be heard over the music. Horny craned his neck to look, and started bulldozing his way through the crowd. Marc watched him go, amused.

“Thanks,” Matt said, holding out the beer to Marc. Marc took it, but made no attempt to go anywhere. He’d come up next to Matt to distract Horny, and now they were standing almost on top of each other.

Marc didn’t think about what he was doing. “What was it you said earlier, about how good I was?”

Maybe it was a trick of the light, maybe a trick of the alcohol in his bloodstream, but Marc thought he saw Matt’s eyes darken. Either way, it wasn’t a trick that his voice was lower, rougher, as Matt said, “You fucking killed it tonight. Hottest goalie in the league,” and Marc certainly didn’t think that word choice was a trick at all.

Marc swayed closer, set his beer on the narrow ledge next to them and snaked his hand around Matt’s back. “You think so?” he asked, leaning in even closer so Matt would hear him without having to shout. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to announce to anyone else.

“Yeah,” Matt breathed, his free hand coming up to rest on Marc’s upper arm.

Matt slouched a lot of the time when he wasn’t on the ice, so Marc barely had to lean up to bring their lips together. It wasn’t, objectively, a good kiss; Marc was sloppy from drinking and the thrill of doing this in public, even if he was pretty sure no one could see them well enough to know for sure. It didn’t matter. Marc had wanted this for months.

Matt opened his mouth, pressing back into Marc, and Marc almost melted with relief. Finally.

It didn’t last.

After a few more seconds, Matt wrenched himself away. “I— We shouldn’t,” he said, his eyebrows drawn down and his mouth tight. It looked like his whole face was trying to collapse in on itself, but Marc didn’t care to look longer. The excited butterflies in his stomach turned to—something less fun.

 _I shouldn’t be going to Vegas_ , he thought viciously, _but we don’t always get what we deserve_. Marc couldn’t bring himself to say it, but he couldn’t stop the thought either. He ended up saying nothing, just let Matt back away, and once he had disappeared into the crowded bar, grabbed the drink and swallowed half of it far too quickly.

\-----

_June–October 2017_

[June 21, 2017, 9:32 PM]

 _from: Matt  
_hey man, we’re really going to miss u

i’ll miss you

thank you. for everything

[August 7, 2017, 4:07 PM]

 _from: Matt  
_talked to your new teammates yet? they’re going to love you

[September 14, 2017, 8:30 AM]

 _from: Matt  
_hope everything’s going ok!

[September 17, 2017, 1:53 AM]

 _from: Matt  
_good luck this season

you’re gonna kill it  
[read: 1:54 AM]

_voicemail from: Matt  
_

[10/4/17]

[Background noise of muffled voices, as if the speaker is outside a bar or busy restaurant] “Hey, Flower. Hope you’re doing good. I mi—uh, we miss having you around in the locker room.” [A pause, more background noise] “I wish I knew how you felt about everything. Anything. I feel like I never really got to know you the way I should have. I should have just—uh.” [A cough] “Anyway, you’re doing great in Vegas. I knew you would. I hope everyone’s telling you that. Uh,” [A shorter pause] I wish—oh. I have to go. You’re the best. Bye.” [End voicemail.]

\-----

_October 2017_

“Hey Sid,” Marc said, smiling. “How are things? Good game last night.”

Sid laughed, and the sound seemed like it was surprised out of him. Marc thought, maybe a little fancifully, that it was a delighted laugh. Sid said, “Thanks. I didn’t know you watched it.”

Marc shrugged, knowing Sid couldn’t see it, but not knowing what else to do. “I’ve gotta scope out the competition, come on, Sid,” he said instead of voicing any of the feelings pushing their way up his throat.

“Yeah?” Sid said, the same laughter in his voice. “Are you planning to move Vegas across the country to change divisions? That seems like a lot of work.”

“Maybe I’ll see you in the finals,” Marc joked. He knew Sid wouldn’t approve, which was mostly why he said it. The team had started out stronger than anyone had ever expected, but finals weren't really on his radar after only three games. Riling up Sid, though, that was always an achievable goal.

“Flower!” Marc could almost see Sid shaking his head at him. “If anything goes wrong, I’m blaming you.”

As innocent as he could possibly muster, Marc asked, “Blaming me for what, Sid?”

“You know what I mean, shut up,” Sid sounded exasperated. “Glad you haven’t changed, asshole.”

Marc laughed. “But really, how is everything?”

“Eh, not too bad,” Sid said, sounding a little disinterested. “Things are going. Has Geno been sending you pictures of Nikita? I swear he has 50 new ones every day.”

“You love it, don’t even try to act like you don’t,” Marc countered. “He’s sent me some, I’ll have to bother him for more.”

Sid made a noise of agreement, and then, “The young guys are settling down, I feel like dogs just spring up around them.”

“They’re nesting,” Marc said, rolling his eyes. “We didn’t do that, did we? I know we never got dogs.”

“We didn’t have girlfriends,” Sid muttered. “Although, neither does Matt, and he’s got more dog than the rest of them put together.”

Taking a deep breath, Marc asked, “How is Matt?”

There was a pause. Marc wished he could see Sid for the first time in this conversation, could see what kind of face he was making as he hesitated. Finally, Sid said, “He’s alright. It’s hard, I think, but he’s solid.”

“What’s hard?” Marc asked, and it came out a little sharper that he intended.

There was a sigh, or at least that’s what it sounded like through the phone. Maybe it was just a breath. Marc didn’t know. Sid said, “Growing up? Being a goalie? I don’t know, I just know he’s been a little rough lately.” If Marc listened hard, he thought he could hear the unspoken ‘it’s not all about you’ through the other words. But he didn’t know that either. Marc was surprised when Sid added, “You know… he might like to hear from you.” It didn’t sound accusing, like Marc might have imagined, but tentative, as if Sid didn’t think Marc would believe him.

The thing is, Marc did. It was one of the reasons he hadn’t tried to reach out. Matt would be grateful, he knew, and Marc just didn’t think he could handle it. “I’m sure he would,” Marc said, and he wanted it to come out acidly, as bitter as he felt hearing Matt talk about how great of a mentor Marc had been to him. Instead, listening to himself, Marc just thought it sounded sad. He didn’t want to hear Matt praising him; he had wanted to get to know Matt beyond just those same cliches about being a supportive teammate, and after so long, he thought he’d probably lost that chance.

“I’m just saying, I think it might be a good idea,” said Sid, more confident now.

Now the bitterness made itself known. “Still trying to captain me, Sid? I should have known.”

“Is it a bad thing that I want you to be happy?” Sid shot back.

Marc sighed. “Sorry.” He didn’t know how to follow that, so he didn’t. It was silent for a moment. Sighing again, Marc asked, “Doing any infinite home improvement projects right now?”

Sid let him get away with the change of subject.

\-----

_December 2017_

“Came back just in time,” Marchy said, unusually serious. “We’re gonna win for you.”

Marc was torn between laughing and being touched. He settled for dramatically putting his hand to his heart and announcing, “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. I could get used to it.”

Marchy glared. “See if I try to be honest again,” he said, sticking his nose in the air and flouncing off. Marc smiled fondly. Some people were so predictable, and Marc was glad to have found that so easily with his new team, even after being out for so long.

The smile dropped away as he thought about their next game. One game back from a concussion wasn’t really the shape he’d hoped to be in when playing the Pens for the first time, but there was nothing he could do about that. What he could do something about—had to, actually—was what he did before the game. He’d already made plans to get lunch with Sid and Tanger, but Tanger had been trying to convince him to make plans with Matt. Marc had stopped answering his texts then.

The thing was, he _wanted_ to see Matt. He missed him, and having the space and the separation had mostly washed away any remaining bitterness about how things had gone. No, Marc’s problem was that Matt was still talking about him like he was some kind of saint. _Because you never bothered to actually get to know me_ , he thought. Marc sighed. Maybe it was his own fault for not trying harder, but he’d always felt trapped around Matt. He wanted to push him, make him open up and—Marc didn’t know. But on the other hand, he’d never been able to completely ignore Matt’s opinion, the way it made him want to live up to something he didn’t think he’d ever been.

It was just easier to not talk to him, let the texts and voicemails go unanswered, and take Sid’s quiet disappointment and Tanger’s loud disapproval. He’d say hi to Matt on the ice. That was where it mattered, anyway, right? Where everyone else could see it.

\-----

_January 2018_

“So, did you have a good time at the All-Star Game? Getting away from these losers, catching up with your old buddies?” Marchy seemed like he might be sarcastic, but he always sounded that way, so Marc decided it was probably a genuine question.

“It was nice,” he said. “Glad to be back, though,” Marc smiled. He hadn’t expected that to be true, but it was. For all his complicated feelings about Pittsburgh, he was growing to like Las Vegas more than he’d ever imagined he would, and the guys on the team were a big part of that.

Belly clapped him on the back. “I even believe you and everything, how are you this nice?”

Marc shrugged, some of his good mood instantly killed. He’d spent half the All-Star weekend torn between wishing Matt had been there and wishing Tanger and Sid would never mention him again. It was different hearing from them how good of a teammate he’d been—they’d earned it, after years of growing up together, of sticking with each other through being on top of the world and what felt like rock bottom. Matt would never have been able to have that kind of experience with him. Marc hadn’t thought about it in exactly that way before, but it was one of the reasons he was so convinced Matt’s praise was hollow somehow.

David snorted. “You think he’s nice, wait until he freezes your underwear. Then tell me he’s nice.”

“Fuck you, Pears,” Marc objected, relieved to have been dragged out of his thoughts. “I’m a delight. And thank you for the idea, I haven’t frozen anyone’s underwear in years.” Although, now they’d be expecting it. He’d have to come up with something different… Marc wondered how many people, if any, had realized how often he used elaborate pranks to distract himself. He hadn’t managed to put Matt completely out of his mind, but at least it would be a bit of time off. Maybe long enough that he’d feel more settled by the next game against the Pens.

\-----

_February 2018_

“Hey, man, good game,” Matt said from behind him.

Marc stared straight ahead, and wondered distantly how much trouble he would get into if he punched Matt in the face. It wasn’t during a game, but there wasn’t anyone around to see, he thought. He snorted out loud and didn’t turn to face Matt.

“What?” Matt said, “It was a good game.”

Marc muttered, “No, it really fucking wasn’t.”

Matt must have heard him, because he said, “Come on, one game isn’t the end of the world. You taught me that.” Marc had to laugh.

“Did I? How nice of me. I must have been a good person.” Marc finally turned to look, and found Matt bewildered, eyebrows drawn together and mouth slightly open.

“What?” he asked.

Marc found that he couldn’t stop, even if Matt wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of responding. “Have any other life lessons for me? After all, you’re so gracious and kind and complimentary all the time, so what’s the secret? You took my team, maybe you can teach me now, finish the circle.”

Matt gaped. “I didn’t take your team,” he said, but it was half-hearted. The whole hockey world knew that was exactly what had happened.

“Anything else you want to say? I know you’re the bigger person here, so just let me go be pissed in private since apparently you don’t do that,” Marc wished he could say he didn’t know where all of this was coming from, but he knew exactly. He was finally saying exactly what he’d been thinking for months now. It was a relief to finally spit it out.

“I’m the bigger person—what are you on?” Matt said, anger coloring his voice. Marc felt his pulse speed up.

“Is it because you won? You always knew you would stay, so could give the perfect quotes, be the perfect teammate?” Marc snapped back.

Matt took a step toward him, straightening out of his usual slouch. “Oh, get over yourself. I never knew I would stay, I had to fight for it, and yeah, I did win. Fairly.”

Marc felt a giddy sort of relief even as he drew back. Finally. Matt was finally fighting back. “If you count me getting injured as ‘fair,’ sure, I guess you did. How’s it going for you?” he sneered.

Matt barked out a laugh. “It’s going great, I only have to talk about you every other night. God, you’d think you personally saved some orphans from falling into the river, the way they talk about you.”

“You say it plenty too, Matthew,” Marc said. “What was the latest one, 'I’ll be one of the fans cheering for him,' wasn’t it? Guess you must have been disappointed I lost tonight, then.”

“Fuck off,” Matt laughed again. He took another step toward Marc, looming over him even with the few inches between them. “If this is what saying nice things about you gets me, nevermind. You know it doesn’t matter how much they love you here, right? You’re gone.”

“Yeah, I am, and I’m playing better than you have all season.”

“Didn’t look like it tonight. Getting old?”

“That’s all you got? You must know I’m right. You know they’ll turn on you as soon as you fuck up in the playoffs, right?”

“Yeah, Flower, learned that one from you, too,” Matt said. “You’ve always been good at disappointing people.” With that, he turned away abruptly, and walked off.

Marc was left alone in the now-empty corridor that was more familiar than his apartment in Vegas, feeling as triumphant as he had been broken-down earlier. He knew he would probably regret it later, but for now, Marc was thrilled that he’d gotten through to Matt—to the _real_ Matt, angry and competitive and willing to fight dirty. Sure, Marc hadn’t wanted to hear everything he’d said, but he’d take that over the last two years of feeling like Matt was hiding everything from him. There was also something more basic, an adrenaline surge of pushing the right buttons to make Matt, who was usually so closed down, open up and lose his cool.

Marc knew it wasn’t something to be proud of, but he felt like he’d managed a victory tonight of some sort, at least.

\-----

_February 2018_

“What the fuck did you do to Muzz?” Tanger said, as soon as Marc picked up the call.

“We had a fight,” Marc said, cautious. What _had_ he done to Matt? It had only been a day, but Marc hadn’t heard from Matt. He didn’t know how Matt was feeling. He barely knew how he was feeling himself. The thrill of Matt actually getting mad combined with his own relief at finally getting to let out some of his anger and frustration had been a heady combination for him.

“Jesus, what kind of a fight? Did you fucking punch him in the throat?”

“No, what the fuck? Of course not!”

“Well, he hasn’t said anything. All day. We had practice, Flower, and he literally hasn’t said anything to anyone, as far as I know.”

“Did you ask the other Wilkes-Barre guys? He talks to them, maybe it’s just you.”

“Just because you have some weird jealousy thing about Muzz doesn’t mean the rest of us do. He talks to me plenty, but not today, because _apparently_ you two had a fight!”

Marc was incredulous. “What do you want me to do about it? Tanger, this is the first time he’s said something that wasn’t fake praise in months.”

“Who says it was fake?”

“Okay, it wasn’t fake, but it wasn’t real either. I’ve heard Matt talk to the guys he’s actually friends with, he chirps them just as much as anyone else, and he’s sarcastic and he complains. He never did any of that with me, just... good teammate shit.”

“Fucking christ, Flower, if this was all some big plan to pull Matt’s pigtails—”

“I thought you knew! I’ve been talking about this for years!”

“I didn’t realize you were going to pick a fight with him over it! And not just _tell him_ what’s going on!”

“I had plenty of reasons to be angry last night, thanks,” Marc said coldly.

Tanger made a strangled noise. “I’m not saying you didn’t, I’m saying this didn’t help anything. Fucking explain yourself to Muzz.” He hung up.

Marc stared at his phone, and then opened it up to send a message to Tanger.

[February 7, 2018, 5:29 PM]

 _to: Kris  
_sorry

i’ll fix it

i miss you

 _from: Kris  
_you better

miss you too

wish i was there to kick your ass in person

\-----

_March–August 2018_

Weeks passed. Marc didn’t talk to Matt. Everytime he started to try, he stared at his phone, unsure whether to call or to text, not knowing what to say. It wasn’t like he meant everything he said, but he didn’t know how to explain “I wanted to prove you weren’t a better person than me” in any way that wouldn’t make things worse. He went over the fight in his head again and again, re-evaluated things Matt had said before, checked Matt’s stats, looked at the other WBS guys’ instagrams to see if maybe they would reveal something about Matt that Marc had always missed.

Eventually, months passed, too. The summer stretched out, open and somehow looming. There wasn’t enough time—and Marc had a stray thought about how he’d been playing until June again, when no one in Pittsburgh had been—but there was so much time, too. He should fix things with Matt, he should do something productive, he should find a way to fill the time. Instead, Marc mostly kept to himself. He visited Tanger and Cath, did some charity events back home, and entertained himself occasionally googling lists of must-see places in Vegas. He’d been surprised to find that he actually liked the city, something about its energy. He stopped googling, though, when he found himself looking at lists of date spots and imagined taking Matt to one of them.

How fucked up was it that Matt basically hated him now and Marc was happier with him than he’d been in more than a year? He felt terrible about how hard Matt had obviously taken everything he’d said, but thinking about Matt finally losing his cool still gave him a guilty kind of thrill. Marc didn’t think it was a reaction that was going to go away anytime soon.

Time moved on, and too soon and after far too long, it was time for the season to start again.

\-----

_October 2018_

Marc didn’t _always_ watch Matt’s media availability, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t check on them frequently. So it wasn’t entirely a surprise that he found himself clicking on a video of Matt talking to a reporter. The surprise was seeing Matt snap at the guy, answer the bullshit question about what he’d like to have gone differently with as much venom as Marc had ever seen from him. Clearly, Matt was fed up with something, and Marc smiled a little, because, god, did he ever know how that felt. Marc didn’t miss the media in Pittsburgh at fucking all.

It made him want to reach out to Matt, and he thought maybe this was the time to break the awkward silence. He knew it had been months, knew that Matt probably wasn’t thrilled with him, and he didn’t even have a good excuse. It just… it felt right, and maybe being impulsive would do Marc good where waiting and hoping had failed.

[October 7, 2018, 11:14 AM]

 _to: Matt  
_i saw someone drive by today with a giant dog hanging out the car window

thought of you

how’s it going?

 _from: Matt  
_So you only like me when I’m losing, is that it?

 _Oh shit_. Marc stared at his phone. He hadn’t really expected Matt to reply, much less immediately. He knew Matt had been mad, but he’s hoped giving him space would have let him cool off. Thinking of all the pointed comments from Sid, he wondered if he’d fucked this one up permanently.

Marc took a deep breath and called Matt. It rang. And rang, and went to voicemail.

“Uh, hi Matt. Listen...” What was he even going to say? Sorry I said mean things to you because I thought you getting mad was the only way you’d be honest? “I’m sorry. Would you let me apologize in person? Before the game, I’d…” He trailed off again. The thing is, Marc was feeling much more pleasant towards Matt ever since they’d fought, but saying _that_ would definitely make things worse. Maybe just keeping it simple was the way to go. “I’d just like to talk to you. Let me know. Bye, Matty.”

Marc ended the call and tossed his phone onto the table. It skidded a few inches until it knocked into a water bottle, which wobbled but stayed upright. He sighed and stared up at the ceiling.

His phone buzzed a minute later. Marc frantically grabbed for it, but it was just a text.

[October 7, 2018, 11:26 AM]

 _from: Matt  
_tanger says i should give you a chance to explain yourself. you can come over to my apartment.

\-----

_October 2018_

“What do you want, Flower?” Matt sounded beaten down already, just from having to talk to him, and Marc felt a little like he’d been punched in the stomach.

Marc swallowed. “I wanted to apologize,” he said, firmly. “I should never have said what I did, and I should have just told you what was going on. I know—what I said, when we fought, I know that fucked you up, and I should never have done that.”

Matt didn’t react. “I just want to know why. Do you hate me that much?”

“No!” blurted out Marc. “No, Matt, not at all.”

“So then why the fuck did you do that?” Matt said, leaning forward, his gaze intense. Marc had seen that before. It was Matt’s game face.

Sighing, Marc said, “I just… I don’t know, Matty, it was a lot of my own shit, and I put it on you, and I shouldn’t have.” Somehow, even now, Marc couldn’t bring himself to begin to say anything approaching ‘I wanted you to snap and I’m so fucking glad I got it and I feel like the world’s biggest asshole that I fucked you up about it and still don’t regret anything.’

“I don’t want you saying sorry,” Matt snapped. “I want you to explain why you did it. Because it sure sounded like you actually hate everything I’ve been doing for the last two years, but you say that’s not true at all, so which is it?”

Fuck. Marc pressed his hands against his face, maybe hoping that Matt would go away if he couldn’t see him. It didn’t work, of course, because object permanence was real, and neither of them were children playing peekaboo. He folded his hands in front of him on the table. “I guess,” Marc began. “I guess I always felt like you were never real with me.”

Matt sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, that same look on his face, like he was ready to pounce on any minute stumble Marc made.

“I would see you talking to—Rusty, or Shearsy, and you would joke with them, give them shit, complain to them if things were shitty, or even if they weren’t. But with me, you were always nice and pleasant and cheerful, and I felt like maybe you didn’t—you didn’t trust me enough to be yourself.”

Marc took a breath, just to breathe, at first, because he wasn’t sure he had since they sat down at this table. He took the chance to study Matt’s face. He was trying to look impassive, but there was a hint of something behind it, something like understanding coming close to the surface. Marc took it as a sign to keep going.

“And Matt, I’m so tired of you saying nice things about me. You make me sound like some kind of— of superhero, and like I’m never not a good person, and Matt, I’m not saying I was never mad at you, because I was, I resented you and I got _so_ mad at you sometimes, and you never seemed mad at me, you just said nicer and nicer things about me…” Marc trailed off. God, he sounded like such an asshole. He had thought it would make him feel better, letting this all out into the air, but instead it just hung over them, all of Marc’s ugly feelings clinging and hovering. There was no way out of this now.

“I think… all of that,” Marc waved his hand, trying to encompass all his confessions, “it got tangled up in my head, and I wanted to make you—break, maybe. I wanted to prove that you weren’t as perfect as you thought I was, I guess, because I felt like that was the only way to get to the real you, or— whatever I thought I wanted. I’m so sorry, Matty.” Marc didn’t know what else to say. There wasn’t anything to make it better. He’d damned himself already with this, so now it was only left to wait for Matt to pass judgment.

It was quiet for a long moment. Marc looked around, unable to face Matt’s expression. He’d never been Matt’s apartment before. Just one more way he’d never gotten to know Matt, but at least he was getting it now. Marc almost smiled at the picture of Matt’s dog right next to the picture of the whole team with the cup, occupying the same level of importance. It seemed right, like it fit Matt somehow intrinsically.

“I wish you’d told me,” Matt said quietly. Marc chanced a look back at him, and Matt seemed—sad. Like he’d lost whatever anger was keeping him upright and now he was left with the defeated slump. Marc hated it. But Matt had more to say. “I feel like an idiot now, trying to keep your attention by talking about you, and you hated all of it."

Marc laughed, because it was better than any of the alternatives. “Matty, you’ve always had my attention— even when I thought you didn’t want it,” he added, thinking of _We shouldn’t_ said in a bar.

Matt grimaced, his mouth twisting up. “We were teammates, Flower, it would have been a mess. You just said you hated me sometimes,” he said, and it sounded accusatory. Good.

“Didn’t change the fact that I wanted you,” Marc argued. “And so what?”

“So what—what do you mean, so what?” Matt asked, eyebrows raised. “I know you think I was always going to be the goalie of the future, or whatever, but if I’d fucked anything up with you, Pittsburgh would have dropped me instantly. No, you know I’m right,” he said, cutting off Marc’s attempt to argue back. “You’re not wrong, they do love you more than they ever will me. That’s fine. I’m not going to be you. And it wasn’t like I was ever fucking lying, Flower, I _do_ like watching you play, and I was happy to see you back in Pittsburgh last year. You were so important to me being able to play as well as I did,” and Matt snorted, glancing up at the ceiling. “Obviously, since I’m shit now that you’re gone.”

“Hey, you’re not shit,” Marc said, startled into speech. “You’ve been getting shitty defense and more responsibility and you were fighting with injuries at the same time. That’s not you being shit, that’s adjusting to new circumstances.”

The corner of Matt’s mouth twitched up. “You sure you aren’t as nice as I said you were?”

Marc shrugged, feeling awkwardly trapped. He didn’t know how to answer that question, or the way Matt sounded like he was twenty years older suddenly.

“That wasn’t the point, though,” Matt said, refocusing his attention on Marc, his intensity returning. “I hoped— I don’t know. I guess I thought, well, maybe when we aren’t teammates anymore, maybe then— I don’t know. You didn’t want to hear from me anyway, and you were across the country.”

A belated realization occurred to Marc. “Matt, were you… were you trying to _flirt_ with me? By complimenting me to the media?”

“Well, you wouldn’t pick up my calls,” Matt muttered, not making eye contact. “Besides, didn’t I just tell you that?”

“Yeah, I—I guess you did,” Marc had to admit. He didn’t know what to say to that either, didn’t know where they could go from here. He didn’t know how to tell Matt that he still felt a little thrilled when Matt snipped at him, that as shitty as he’d felt seeing Matt so defeated, he still wanted to push a little harder and get Matt a little out of control again. Maybe that wasn’t motivated by spite at all, though, Marc thought as other ways to make Matt lose control flitted through his mind.

“So, you don’t like me saying nice things about you because you feel like it’s too much pressure, and that it means I don’t really know you like you think you don’t know me? Is that pretty much it?” Matt asked. It was strange, Marc realized, that no matter how much it was his revelations on display, Matt was unquestionably driving this conversation.

“Yeah, that’s about it.”

Rolling his eyes, Matt complained, “Jesus, Flower, why didn’t you just tell me, seriously?”

Marc rolled his eyes right back. “Oh, that would have gone well. 'Hey, Matt, stop saying good things about me because it makes me feel like an asshole. Also I don’t believe you’re that good of a person.' Yeah, that would have sounded great, you would have loved it,” he scoffed.

“At least I wouldn’t have thought you hated me,” Matt said, firm. Then he shook his head. “Whatever. We got here eventually. So, now what?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Now what?

“I could start by answering your calls,” Marc offered quietly. “We could see where it goes.”

Matt nodded. “Sounds good to me.” He smiled a little. “I’ll be sure and yell at you occasionally, if you want.”

\-----

_November–December 2018_

[November 13, 2018, 1:48 PM]

 _to: Matt  
_how do i make someone stop sending me memes?

 _from: Matt  
_who is it?

 _to: Matt  
_collin miller

 _from: Matt  
_are you asking because i’m young, or because i played with him in jrs

 _to: Matt  
_WHAT

you played with millsy in juniors?

do you have any embarrassing stories?

 _from: Matt  
_the worst story is our hair

which is on the internet 

_to: Matt  
_oh you poor thing

[...]

[December 2, 2018, 6:39 PM]

 _from: Matt  
_oh my god

sid wont shut up

help

someone asked him about why the steelers are called that

 _to: Matt_  


that’s sports history AND regular history

he’ll never stop now

just run away and save yourself

 _from: Matt  
_i cant we’re out for a team dinner

im stuck

oh no he just mentioned world war 2

does ww2 even have anything to do with this

 _to: Matt  
_who asked him this?

 _from: Matt  
_jamie

oleksiak

he actually seems interested

 _to: Matt  
_the kind of interested where he likes history, or the kind where he still wants to suck sid’s dick because he’s Sidney Crosby?

 _from: Matt  
_…

both?

[...]

[December 19, 2018, 3:04 AM]

 _to: Matt  
_do you want to come visit for christmas?

[December 19, 2018, 7:48 AM]

 _from: Matt  
_i’d love to

thought you’d never ask

[call to: Matt]  
[1:36:27]

[December 19, 2018, 10:01 AM]

 _from: Matt  
_i’ll send you my flight info in a sec

 _to: Matt  
_can’t wait to see you <3

[...]

[December 28, 2018, 11:50 PM]

 _to: Matt  
_do you ever think about everything we’re missing to play hockey?

 _from: Matt  
_yeah

all the time

it’s worth it

 _to: Matt  
_is it?

how do you know?

 _from: Matt  
_i don’t?

why are you asking me?

 _to: Matt  
_because i thought you might have an answer

 _from: Matt  
_i don’t.

sorry.

 _to: Matt_  


don’t be sorry

why are you mad?

 _from: Matt  
_i’m not mad.

 _to: Matt  
_come on, matty

i know better than that

we’re supposed to tell each other things, now, right? so tell me

 _from: Matt  
_i don’t know why you still think i have answers

just cause im young and not a disaster

i dont know what i’m doing

i can’t tell you tihnks like this

*things

it’s a lot of pressure

 _to: Matt  
_shit

i’m sorry, matty

i should know better

i wasn’t looking for an answer, i promise

i was just having a long night

[December 28, 2018, 11:59 PM]

 _to: Matt  
_bet i have a way to make it better though

 _from: Matt  
_seriously??

 _to: Matt  
_if you don’t want to, i’ll shut up, i promise

i just think it would be a good distraction for both of us

 _from: Matt  
_i hate when you’re right

 _to: Matt_  


[picture attached]

 _from: Matt_  


[call from: Matt]  
[28:47]

\-----

_January 2019_

“So, how do you feel about facing your old team?” a reporter asked. Marc smiled.

“Well, it’ll be nice to see them all, maybe show them some of the sights around Vegas.”

Another one piped up, “What about playing against Matt Murray? Neither of you played in the game in Pittsburgh earlier this season, so how will that affect the game?”

“Yeah, no, I’m glad to see Matt’s doing better now, glad he’s healthy and doing well. I mean, sad I’ll be seeing him lose, but good to see him ready to go,” Marc tried to keep his voice pleasant and even, and not burst out laughing at the surprised reactions to his quote. Somewhere else in the area, Matt was almost certainly saying the same things. They’d agreed not to try and hide how much they always wanted to win, at least not against each other.

And it _was_ nice to see Matt doing better. Marc had seen plenty of him that morning, and the night before, because he’d spent the night at Marc’s apartment, but the principle was the same.

Belly walked over after the scrum cleared out. “Everything okay?”

Marc grinned. “Never better,” and patted Belly on the shoulder before sneaking out into the hallway. He hurried past the equipment, ignored some unusual looks from arena employees, and made it to the outside of the visitor’s locker room relatively unfollowed. He ducked around a corner to wait, but it wasn’t for long.

Matt appeared around the corner, his face determined and intent. He quickly stepped to where Marc was, and backed him against the wall. Marc felt his back hit the concrete and smiled even wider. They hadn’t had much time together in person since starting this, almost none, but Matt was a good kisser, and Marc didn’t do much at first, just let Matt press him into the wall, the warmth of his body along Marc’s front a sharp contrast to the cold solid wall behind him. It was everything he’d been waiting for—for days, months, even years.

Just to be sure, Marc leaned his head back, pulling away as best as he could from Matt. “Are you sure you want to do this now? Before a game?”

Matt stared back, game face on. “Of course I’m sure. I don’t give a shit that it’s before a game. Besides, we deserve this,” he said, as sure of himself as it seemed only Matt could be. Marc thought it might be the best thing anyone had ever said to him.

“Come here, then,” Marc said, unable to give voice to any of the other thoughts in his head. He reached up to tangle one hand in Matt’s hair, pulling his head back down to where Marc could kiss him as thoroughly and intently as he knew how.

**Author's Note:**

> dramatis personae/key to possibly unclear hockey nicknames and some very clear ones which i thought should be included for thoroughness:  
> Flower/Marc: Marc-Andre Fleury  
> Matt/Matty/Muzz: Matt Murray  
> Sid: Sidney Crosby  
> Rusty: Bryan Rust  
> Dumo: Brian Dumoulin  
> Shearsy: Conor Sheary  
> Tanger/Kris: Kris Letang (and Cath is his wife)  
> Horny: Patric Hornqvist  
> Geno: Evgeni Malkin (and Nikita is his son)  
> Marchy: Jonathan Marchessault  
> Belly: Pierre-Edouard Bellemare  
> David/Pears: David Perron
> 
> come talk to me about angsty goalies on twitter at steelinstories, on dreamwidth at steelinmystories, and on tumblr at topcopbobrovsky


End file.
